Ambassador of War

Chapter 1

Black armour blended into the darkness, masking the advancing raiders from their target's eyes. Nightfall had hit Erudan's vast desert, and nightfall meant one thing for the Dark Ambassadors: attack time. Their golden helmets might have been a problem, but they had deliberately been left unpolished, their shine dulled to a minimum. Not that the Protectorate were looking the right way; they never did.

The raiding party had parked their trikes a couple of miles out, with the supply trucks which would advance once the signal was given. This plan had been put in to action many times, and Commander Xenon was confident the results would be much the same now.

He put down the binoculars, satisfied with what he saw, then motioned for his squadron to move forward again. They quickly slid down the sand dune, then moved across the plain towards the fuel depot with light feet, their footsteps silenced further by the soft sand. Xenon was on point, the only place for a commander. Especially one of his calibre.

They came near the depot and Xenon signalled to scatter. His troops moved quietly, keeping their bodies low as they hid in the shadows of the depot's buildings.

Xenon ducked in a nook as a patrol moved past, then slipped back out and crept up behind them, balanced on his toes. He grabbed one of the two soldiers and snapped his neck – before the second could shout a warning, the commander spun him around and kneed him in the gut, winding him. A second snap, and the commander moved on, motioning to his troops to secure the area.

He came to the door to the radio room and drew his revolver as he slowly turned the handle. He pushed the door open, saw the two operators inside, took aim and fired. He did not care that they were probably unarmed; their people had not afforded his own the luxury of taking prisoners, and he had no ability to take them anyway.

No witnesses.

He heard commotion begin to erupt at the echoes of his gunshots, before he heard a series of cracks across the depot. His troops finishing the job, quickly. Good.

He freed the flare gun from his belt and fired a shot into the sky, the projectile burning bright red. The signal. Two of his soldiers moved to the storage facility, pushing the doors open.

"There are a few in here, sir."

Xenon walked to the pair and looked inside the store.

"We only need three. Leave the rest."

If it had been anything else, Xenon would have ordered the remains destroyed; deny the enemy resources, always a good tactic. But these could not be damaged, under any circumstances: if just one of those canisters ignited, the genocide would be the least of their worries.

The pair nodded to him, and picked up one of the canisters between them, carrying it towards the centre of the depot. Xenon heard the trucks come up, and suddenly orders were being given at will as the first canister was carefully loaded.

He glimpsed a shadow behind one of the buildings, a figure peering at him, clutching their arm. Before he could react, before he could raise the revolver and put the spy down, they had disappeared. He sprinted to the corner of the building, but by the time he was there, they were gone.

An engine roared into life, and he saw the trike come past, fast, the white-clad Ambassador making their escape. Xenon aimed and fired, but the bike was going too fast, the bullet missing by a hair.

He fired off a few more shots, but none managed to hit, and the fifth time he pulled the trigger the hammer clicked on a spent round. He frowned, then turned back to the depot.

"Damn it," he muttered. Then, as he came near the trucks, he kicked a pillar and screamed:

"God damn it!"

"Sir?" one of the soldiers asked. They backed up when he fixed his glare on them.

"Who did not clean up their mess?" he growled. The soldiers around him looked at each other, eyes wide. "Because one of you," and he gestured to each one with his weapon, "left a soldier with breath in their lungs, and now they have jumped on a trike and run off instead of lying on the ground with a slug in their brain. And, because one of you took someone down but did not put them down, they are going to be on high alert." He held his face in his hand and shook his head. "At least this was the final run. Finish up, we're getting out of here ASAP."

He looked up at the frozen soldiers, then snapped.

"Get to it!"

The soldiers snapped out of their trance, running to move the final canister. Xenon turned back to the trike tracks, which already stretched far out of sight, and sighed, sliding the revolver into its holster with force.

He had some explaining to do to the Queen.

***

"Sir!"

The High Ambassador turned from the window in his office to the soldier at his door.

"Yes?"

"We have had a man come in from one of the depots, sir. You may want to talk with him."

The High Ambassador nodded and gestured for the soldier to lead the way. He followed after, quickly, brushing off his tan armour unconsciously and shifting the silver helmet on his head. They stepped into a lift, and as the soldier hit the ground floor the High Ambassador spoke again.

"Has he said anything yet?"

"Not yet, sir. He was badly injured; we needed to get him to medical care first."

"How so?"

"Shot in the arm. The Darks didn't finish the job."

The High Ambassador bristled.

"So, we know it was them?"

"He confirmed it himself, sir. This wasn't one of the sympathisers."

"They missed him. I find that hard to believe."

"They tried to gun him down as he made his escape; one of those slugs came close enough to graze. I do not think they meant to let him go."

"They know they let one go, but it was not deliberate. Good; it will scare them."

The lift came to a stop, the door sliding open. The soldier strode forward, the High Ambassador following quickly.

When the soldier pushed open the infirmary door, he directed the High Ambassador to a bed at the end of the hall. The man thanked his subordinate, then walked to the injured soldier.

Their armoured suit had been removed, a basic tunic protecting their modesty. The right sleeve had been pulled up, revealing the large wound in their arm which had gone septic, pus oozing from it; the infection caused by dust from the trike, no doubt. The wound itself could only mean one thing. Lines had already been inserted above the wound, pumping antibiotics into the bloodstream in an attempt to hold the infection at bay. The soldier's helmet had been set aside, and his face was a grimace of pain, his long head caked slightly in blood that may not be his own; a nurse sat beside him, gently wiping away the grime.

"He is going to need amputation," the nurse nodded at his arm. "The doctor is preparing the theatre now."

The High Ambassador nodded, and placed his helmet on the table as he crouched by the bed.

"Sir?" The word was grunted out through gritted teeth, and the High Ambassador looked at him with sadness.

"You are safe. Rest, son." Not for the first time, he wished he'd stamped those rebels out much more aggressively. Even with their no prisoner policy, making battles so much simpler, they were too slow. No longer. "You're going to be alright." He kept his voice calm; the last thing this man needed was a commanding officer losing their temper.

He turned back to the nurse. "Send for me once the surgery is complete and he's been given something for the pain – I need to know exactly what happened out there."

The nurse nodded, and the High Ambassador got up, lifting his helmet, and turned on his heel to leave. As he came back to the door, he addressed the soldier who'd brought him.

"On my authority, call the Special Forces in. Weare finishing this."